


Red For Forgiveness

by alinalotus



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Brutasha - Freeform, F/M, written eons ago but I hope ya'll still enjoy it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:54:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28254237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alinalotus/pseuds/alinalotus
Summary: When Natasha bails, Fury sends the only person capable of saving her to bring her back. "...only she doesn't hate him, not even a little bit..."
Relationships: Bruce Banner/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 1
Kudos: 23





	Red For Forgiveness

_I've been around the world and never in my wildest dreams  
Would I come running home to you  
I've told a million lies but now I tell a single truth  
There's you in everything I do..._

Tony narrowly misses the bullet, wondering if, in her rage, Nat has forgotten that hey, he's not wearing his armor! The look on her face, however, doesn't confirm this. She's fully aware of what she's doing.

"Connect the dots, Stark. Stealth mode is the reason we lost him! It was your brainchild- it's your fault!" 

He supposes he should've known what her motives were, when she approached him earlier. It wasn't as if they were real pals, anyway, but if the majority of his conversations with Pepper are anything to go by, well, picking up on a woman's subtle hostilities is definitely not his strong point. Inventions and computer codes and massive machinery, sure, he's the expert- the fairer sex? A mystery far beyond his rather impressive intellect, thanks.

"Whoa, that's saved our asses more times than I can count, thank you very much, and SHIELD certainly isn't-"

"SHIELD," She spits out, bitterly, but lowers her weapon. "You don't understand...and how could you?" Her voice lowers, weakens, as Pepper approaches from the sidelines, inching towards the man she loves, the man who loves her.

Stark wins again, getting everything he wants- and it isn't just him, it's Clint too, with his adorable kids and loving wife, and the Witch and her precious Vision, and Thor's brilliant Jane Foster...and it makes her want to scream and blow up the better part of the helicarrier. But she doesn't, because she is first and foremost an agent, a puppet, an efficient assassin and she never should have left his side, should've ran after him when he saved her, when he threw Ultron splaying back to the earth...

"Nat," Tony steps towards her, but she whirls away from him, pressing the handle of her gun into her chest, as though trying to cling to something- to anything.

**oooo**

He says her name like a prayer, which is ironic since he's found the best solitude to be in church. Not during a service, god no, there's too many people around for that, but in the off-hours, when the priests wander around in silence, lighting candles for lost and broken souls, like his.

Only when he thinks of her- and it's _Natasha_ so softly against his pallet- he isn't so broken. It's why he needs to stay away from her. For her own protection of course, but this isn't like those cliched love stories. There is no love story here. Only tragedy and destruction, and he's a monster and no matter what she thinks, she's salvation. 

Angels, after all, don't belong in hell.

**oooo**

She's sick- _so fucking sick_ \- of these men, these stupid, silly tropes, Tony and Steve and Clint, what ridiculous, common names anyway, and- 

Bruce is a deep word, guttural, in the back of her throat, and she thinks that she might hate him the most.

**oooo**

He knows what she'd say, with those full lips pulled into a smirk, and yeah alright, so Lucifer was an angel, too, but that doesn't mean-

And she'd cut him off with a kiss that tasted of lingering Lymonnyk, her favorite treat, although she confessed, with a breathy chuckle, that it wasn't even Russian, but Ukranian...the brilliant sun would warm their backs, the red in her hair flaming all around them...

"Doctor?" She is a sight for sore eyes, even if she isn't exactly the one he's been missing, that his arms and his lips have been searing for.

"Agent Hill. What are you doing here?" For surely if Nick has found him, she can't be far behind.

"Checking in. The Director is curious how long this...sabbatical, might be."

He runs a hand through his limp curls, a wry grin on his face. "This isn't a sabbatical. I'm pretty sure I made it clear that I'm not coming back."

Maria has a smile to match his. "The Director says you never officially resigned or gave a two week notice. So it seems as though you're still employed."

"This is going nowhere. Pass that along to your boss." He stands from the table, throwing a few notes down next to his half-empty plate.

"She's falling apart, Doctor." He is halfway out of the terrace before she says this, but it stops him almost as if there'd been a brick wall thrust at him. "She's turned on Stark, on Nick, barely speaks to Clint anymore, and somehow through all of this, has never managed to put the blame on you."

"Agent Romanoff is a professional." He doesn't stumble over her name; he's determined not to. He wonders if she hates him. He hopes so. It's the least of what he deserves.

" _And_ that professional is off the rails. Sometimes, Doctor Banner, the people who needs us the most are the ones who scare us the most. That's life."

And it's insightful, sure, but it isn't as though he doesn't know that already, okay, isn't like he hasn't spent the nights, wide awake and alone, staring up at the black sky, wondering and maybe hoping that she was looking up there, too.

"The Avengers need you. You can hate yourself all you want but you're an asset, and I'm not just talking about the other guy. I'm talking about you, a brilliant scientist, the only one on par with Stark. The only one who, as far as I can tell, Nat even gives a damn about anymore."

He thinks about calling her Nat- maybe they're holding hands on the pier, or he's asking her what she'll have to drink. Was he that close to having her, to having something so good?

Maria regards him for a few seconds, then shrugs. "I tried. Big guns time." 

She wheels him around to a table that, only two seconds ago, had been empty. Nick is there, his stony face revealing, as ever, nothing. He says, "We need to talk," his tone one of utmost gravity, and Bruce can't help but think, Jesus, this guy needs to take a chill pill. He is sure Natasha would agree.

**oooo**

Only she doesn't hate him, not even a little bit. Which is the worst part. This thing, this _feeling_ thing, is something she is still kind of new to, and what's more, something she's ridiculously horrible at. Clint is someone precious to her- his wife and kids are people she would unflinchingly kill for, die for. Her..."teammates" or whatever they are, sure, she'd defend them in battle, too, and has put her life on the line for each and every one of them, in the past.

But him...Him.

And she thinks, then, of soft lips and a slight hesitation- not because he doesn't reciprocate, no, if there's one thing Natasha _does_ know, it's when someone is interested- and like the sun on her face, on her lips, his mouth warms her. He was so gentle, even as the other guy, always with her and around her and it's this that she craves the most, needs the most. Bruce is the sweet salve over her wounds, over her loss, but now, now he _is_ the loss and she didn't expect it to hit this hard, this deep.

She clutches at her stomach, on her knees, heaving to keep the tears back, biting her lip and almost drawing blood to stop the sobs. It's agony, pure and undiluted, and not even the most intense and painful training in the world to become what she is- a cold, calculating killing machine- has prepared her for it.

It's not usually in her to give up. The mission is the first priority and must be completed. Everything else is negotiable. And she wishes she could be that girl again- all kicking asses and taking names, worried about the next target, the next pay out. Truth is, Bruce was the one to not just see past all that, but help her to see past it, too. Now he's gone, and it's too much, because without those things, without her past and without somebody to ground her, she is simply...gone too. So, she's tapping out, she can't be here anymore, not around the places he's been, not with the people that are his friends, too. Sterile or not, she's found something that is, in fact, more important than the mission and if he can disappear, so can she.

It has to be better than this.

**oooo**

He gives an indignant snort when Fury places the folder in front of him. He's literally spent weeks running from this guy, from all of them, and now he's supposed to forget the damage he's done? Just pick up the pieces and start again and hell, tomorrow's another day! That's what Tony would probably say, anyway.

"Don't look at me like that, I don't have time for it. This is something we need you for. Not," Nick cuts off the beginning of his question, "the other guy. Nothing violent. We need your brains on this one."

Intrigued against his will, Bruce taps a finger lightly on the manila, waiting for Nick to elaborate.

"It's a search. Sort of...a search and rescue." Maria fills in the gap, as Nick sits silently back, watching Bruce intently.

"Who's missing?" He knows before he opens the file what he'll see. A beautiful face and honey lips, supple red waves and eyes needing him, trusting him.

"I think your retirement is going to have to wait." Nick says, standing up. "Find her before she kills somebody."

Bruce looks up, eyebrows raised. "Nata- I mean, Agent Romanoff. She doesn't kill the innocent." 

Because really, that's what it boils down to, why he can't be with her. Well, why she can't be with him, anyway. She is good, even if she doesn't believe it, even if she doesn't know it. He laments that things went to hell in a hand basket before he was able to show her just how good she was.

Nick holds his gaze for a moment. "She hardly considers herself innocent, doctor."

**oooo**

And its ironic- that word again, always haunting him, always biting at his heels- that he's the one looking for her. But maybe it was always going to end up like this, and she's the wreck, now, and he's the one who is supposed to save her, although he's never saved a person in his life, so how the hell should he know how it's done?

He only knows about tearing things down, wrecking them, about mass destruction- he's got it all narrowed down to an art, actually, and though it's what he loathes, it's what he feels most comfortable doing.

"Once, I dreamt of the Bifrost. Before I knew him. I didn't know what it was, of course. A child's fancy, I guess. But I think even then, even years ago, I was waiting for him." Jane Foster approaches him, as he stares out of the vast, floor-to-ceiling windows of the helicarrier, his eyes not seeing, really, but his mind working full tilt.

He shrugs. "Fantasy is often rooted in reality. That's what they say, anyway."

"You don't believe that." Jane's head is tilted in question at him.

"It doesn't matter. What I believe, I mean."

They hear the click-clacking of Thor's boots, and it's Jane's turn to shrug. "It matters to Natasha."

And Thor, this, this _god_ , his entire face lights up at seeing Jane, his eyes devouring her, his arms reaching, on instinct, for her. Now that, Bruce thinks, watching them go, is what's really messed up around here. Imagine, Jane trying to give him relationship advice! So, alright, she's a scientist too, and one he deeply respects, but honestly, a mortal and a god? Hadn't there been enough tales and legends about how terrible an idea that was? It wouldn't work out, not in the end. Thor would be destined to live an eternity without Jane, and then what? And it wasn't just those two either, but all of them! Tony, and Pepper- for sooner or later Tony's worst fears would come to fruition, and something would happen to Pepper, something he couldn't protect her from. Clint's wife lay in uneasy safety, and the enemies of SHIELD were many. It wasn't possible! No, no matter how strong they all were- separately or together- the people they loved, that they needed, were still vulnerable.

"I thought about asking her out. You know, back in New Mexico." Coulson, appearing in usual form out of seemingly nowhere, looks after the pair, Thor's booming laughter echoing around them. "She was tenacious to say the least. But one look at them together..." He trails off with a sharp shrug.

"It's pretty obvious a guy like you wouldn't stand a chance with a girl like her," Tony claps Phil on the shoulder, giving a quick wink to Bruce, and Bruce can't help but feel like he never left, like there hadn't been a gap in their friendship. Tony pursued him the hardest and he ran the hardest from him, from the one he would consider his true friend. Brilliance recognizing brilliance, of course, but more than that- two men fighting the monster within. So poetic, Bruce thinks with a wry smirk.

"Oh I don't know," Pepper slips her arm through Phil's, gently guiding him away, "Phil has always been quite the charmer." She smiles innocently at Tony over her shoulder.

"His name is Agent actually, so-"

"Join me for dinner?" Phil asks Pepper, who smiles again, and they saunter off, Tony glaring after them, but even somebody as oblivious to relationships as Bruce knows that Pepper sees no other man but Tony, that he is the love of her life and the only one that matters. He thinks Natasha would be equally amused and sickened by that fact.

"So, when do we leave?" Tony turns back to him, but Bruce shakes his head. 

He appreciates, immensely so, Tony's willingness to help him, and truth be told, he would give his left arm to not have to face her alone. He knows, though, if there's any chance of seeing her again, of bringing her home, it has to be him. Only him. Solo always was how he preferred to fly.

"No more disappearing acts, right, I mean it's getting a little old. And the lab looks like hell, you have a few things to clean up- catch up on, I mean."

Bruce can only imagine the haywire experiments Tony's concocted in his absence. His mind races as he imagines his precious equipment, his computers, all fried and smashed to bits, but he can't worry about that right now- later. If he gets a later. Besides, Fury will be footing the bill for anything that needs to be replaced- it's the least he can do.

First, Natasha. Always Natasha.

**oooo**

He expects to find her in some questionable bar, knocking back Russian vodka, in the middle of a brawl- or maybe on the edge of a high rise, one Stiletto step away from plummeting to a crowded, lamp-lit street below. Surely not even somebody like Natasha Romanoff could hide the manic, suicidal mess Nick and Maria and everybody else have made her out to be.

Yet here she is laughing- a light laugh, something to match the early summer weather- as she watches two old men engaged in a game of chess. They're speaking Ukrainian, and with his recent study of Russian, he can string together what they're saying, something about strategy and what he's sure is the American equivalent of "yo momma" jokes.

Her hair is pulled back from her face and she's wearing a sundress, its hem billowing softly against her porcelain legs in the slight breeze. Across the cobblestone alley their eyes meet, and for a split-second he sees her face freeze, but then she is waving him over, like she was expecting him, and his legs are like jelly, and he takes a deep breath to steady his pounding heart. He definitely needs to keep that under control.

"Doctor," she greets him pleasantly, introducing him as a science professor and old friend. The old men couldn't care less, and they go back to their game. He watches her and she watches him, and he can practically see the cogs turning behind her passive eyes, old instincts and habits and she's probably just waiting for masses of SHIELD agents to drop down off the sagging shop rooftops, to fling from behind lemonade stands, to pounce from behind him.

Her face and voice betray none of this, as she starts to explain that the old men are brothers, not by birth of course, but they have always called each other brother, and for the last eighty years it's always "this is my brother, that is my brother." She says this in English, for his benefit, though he knows it would be more comfortable for her to switch to Russian or Ukrainian, something where she is more dominant than him. It makes her nervous and suspicious when she isn't in control, and that is something that has been hammered into her very DNA.

"У мене є десерт," He is ashamed of his accent, but she raises a perfectly manicured eyebrow, impressed nonetheless. The old men stop their quibbling and look up at him.

"так рано в день?" She replies, a pretty smile overcoming her hardened features.

He feels one of his own spreading across his cheeks. "It's never too early for dessert." He says, and reaches out for her. 

She tilts her head slightly, curious, but she slips her hand- delicate, warm- into his. They bid formal farewells to the old men, and Bruce leads her across the street to a bench beneath a large birch tree. He hands her a Styrofoam carton, and holds two forks in his hand. 

Natasha opens it, meeting his eye. God, it's so wonderful to see him, to be near him again. Those curls and that smile, his soft eyes...she wondered if Nick would ever find him, find him and send him after her. She was an integral part of SHIELD, always willing to take the missions the others deemed below them, the missions that didn't perfectly coincide with their self-righteous, cherry picked morality. She could be anything to anyone and they would never be able to replace her. She was too seasoned, too perfect, too spy. But now, all she wants to be is Natasha. Bruce was the only to ever make her feel that way...like she was normal. Like she was _good_. Worth something.

"Lymonnyk. You remembered." She murmurs, almost too quietly for him to hear.

"Я пам'ятаю все." She's too surreal, too close, too everything he's longed for and hoped for. He could obsess over every minute detail about her- the way her lips form his name, the glint in her eyes that precedes a trademark smirk, the supple curve of her jaw down into her neck.

"Nat, I-" He begins, wringing his hands together. 

"What did you say?" She interrupts him, her hand going on impulse to his forearm.

"I didn't say anything-"

"My name. You said..."

"Nat."

She nods, and there's a tear in her eye, sliding down the apple of her cheek. "I'd almost forgotten what that's like. You, here. With me."

He hesitantly reaches up to tuck a flaming red tendril behind her ear, and her eyes flutter close as she leans into his palm. They don't say anything, just stay like that, close and touching, and there are many things that need to be said, to be worked out. They're on a timeline, as always, because even if they both tried to outrun it, they are Avengers through and through, and isn't this pathetic, vulnerable world always in need of saving?

But for now, with Natasha (forever spoken like a prayer) next to him, with her lips on his palm, his pulse, behind his ear, there is only one thing he can think, one thing he can form all of his scattered, pulsing thoughts around.

For the first time in his life, Bruce Banner feels forgiven.

**Lyrics used from I Bet My Life by Imagine Dragons. Feedback is ever appreciated.**

**Translations:У мене є десерт - I have dessert**  
так рано в день? - So early in the day?  
Я пам'ятаю все - I remember everything 

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**Translations from google translate.**

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